PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Shards of glass,

a butcher's knife,

all the tools of my strife,

my bare wrists I wish to cut,

I want to bleed,

then burn it shut,

I want the fire,

I want the pain,

My blood's loss is my soul's gain.

I feel the need and then the slash,

lass pierces flesh in a flash,

Then the knife bites in my thigh

The greatest rush,

the greatest high,

to seal the wound I use the flame,

I've cleared my conscience of the blame,

As searing flesh scents the air,

my fun gives way

to disappear,

I take my meds from the cup

Zyprexa sooths while I bandage up.